Steve’s Shorts: Russians, Part Two of Five…
Russians
Copyright 2016, Steven M. Moore
Part Two of Five
The next morning Leo Fonseca was at the office. He studied the CSU’s photos of Vlad Levitsky’s bedroom, an idea forming. That roommate, Mary Sue, had said it was always a mess, but was it messier than it should be? The mattress on the single bed was crooked, but the bed was made. Hiding the blood? Or looking underneath? A few drawers in the old desk were half-opened, and memory sticks were scattered on the top among the takeout cartons. He picked up the phone.
“Mark, when you dusted the apartment, were there any prints in there beyond those of the three renters?”
Fonseca waited while Mark McNair, who worked in the crime lab, formed his thoughts. The guy was sharp but irritatingly slow in his speech patterns, some of that due to his Georgia upbringing, but mostly due to his reflective nature.
“No, sergeant, but the blood type is neither Mary Sue’s nor Jan’s. Don’t know about Levitsky’s, of course. There’s just one type not accounted for, though. We have DNA samples we’ll be checking, but that’s the same problem, unless we come up with four different people in that case.”
“Get to it then. I’m developing this theory that the room was tossed. I’ll be questioning Jan and Mary Sue, but Mary Sue already said they never went in there. If you find her DNA in there, she’s lying.”
“We do the best we can. This isn’t that old TV show, CSI, you know.”
“The Feds are involved. Pass on some of the lab work to them if you need to. ‘Course they’d probably take longer. Shit, do what’s best. I need results or this case will become just another cold one.”
“FYI: we have the shell and bullet.”
“What? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because we didn’t get any useful data from them. A bullet was found in a tree, likely the one that went through the victim’s arm. Can’t get anything except caliber, but we had that from the shell. I wanted to test the shell for fingerprints. Found only a bit of dust.”
“Powder? So what? Just give me the caliber.”
“Point twenty-two-long rim fire. Would have been hard to get a full print. The dust isn’t GSR, though. It’s probably the stuff used on those medical rubber gloves to keep the latex from sticking. Means the shooter was careful. Maybe a pro?”
“With a laser sight, that kind of rifle is still deadly.” Where was Jan Connors heading? He’d have to ask her. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad shot? If she was returning to the apartment, had someone stopped her while others kidnapped Vlad and tossed his room? His theory had a lot of holes in it. It was mostly conjecture, only a possible scenario. He didn’t have any other, though. “Send those results to my smart phone. I’m off to see Janet Connors.”
***
“Hello, Ms. Connors, how are you feeling?” Fonseca flashed his badge. “Hi, Boris.”
“Better,” said Jan. “Let me warn you, I can’t help you very much. Someone was on the roof of the professor’s office building and took a shot at me when I came out. That’s all I know.”
“Lucky for you he was a terrible shot.” Fonseca pulled up a chair and sat beside Boris. “Did the prof tell you your roommate is missing?” She nodded. “Think he might have shot you?”
“Vlad? Whatever for? He’s awfully moody sometimes, but he’s not violent. Mary Sue, Vlad, and I became friends when we were first-year students. We do a lot of things together.”
“Like what?”
“Rock concerts, plays, soccer games, whatever. They’ve both been at my Mom’s house twice for barbecues.”
“That’s about one hundred miles away. Do you take the bus?”
“One time she picked us up. The other, we went by bus. What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Yes, sergeant, you seem to be—how do you say it?—way out in left field,” said Boris.
“Do you have any idea why someone would be searching Vlad’s room? Or what they might be looking for?”
“His room’s always a mess. What could they possibly even find there?”
“Just answer the questions.”
“No, I have no idea. When did that happen?”
“Near as I can tell, about the same time you were shot. Were you heading back to the apartment after talking to Boris?”
She frowned. “Yes, I was. Again, what’s that got to do with anything?”
“A lot, if someone just wanted to keep you from interrupting that search.”
She thought a moment. “That would explain why I’m still alive…”
“Precisely. Like my little theory, professor?”
Boris shrugged. “It’s about as likely as having no correlation between the events, I guess.”
“What does that mean?” said Leo.
“He’s saying the events might not be related,” Jan said. “My shooter could just be a bad shot.”
“That would point to a disgruntled ex-boyfriend or something similar,” said the cop. “Anyone like that in your past? A stalker maybe, or a perv sending you pornographic emails?”
Jan laughed. “Mary Sue says I scare off the boys. I’m tall to begin with, and she says men aren’t attracted to smart women. I don’t flaunt it, but everyone knows I do well in my classes, even here where they’re far more difficult than in high school.”
“What’s Mary Sue’s story? Does she have a thing for you?”
“Pardon? You mean romantic interest? That’s so out of line I shouldn’t answer—“
“You don’t have to,” said Boris.
Jan smiled at him. “But I will. Mary Sue and her soccer goalie are hot and heavy and can’t wait for graduation when they can get married.”
“What about Vlad? He’s a bit weird. Does he have a girlfriend?”
“He’s dated several girls on campus. Most of them have common interests. He’s pulled overnighters with one. They were designing some app. They’ve sold a few.”
“Hmm. A likely excuse, but I’ll accept that for the time being. Know who these girls are?”
“The app-girl is named Penny. That might be short for Penelope. I don’t know the other girls’ names. Mary Sue might.”
Leo nodded. “I’ll be talking to her next. For now, I’m going to assume your shooting, the tossing of Vlad’s room, and his disappearance are all related. This campus is usually quiet compared to the surrounding community. It’s too much coincidence to have these occurrences and not have them related.”
“That could be an interesting line of investigation,” said Boris. “You might be looking for someone from the surrounding community.”
“Leave the detective work to me.” But Fonseca winked at Boris. “But you’re right. That’s a possibility. And that would make my job very difficult.”
***
Two days later, Boris was listening to a Beethoven string quartet while working through some complicated calculations. It was the first evening he hadn’t gone to see Janet Connors at the hospital. She was now home and would start classes again, her arm in a sling earning her a sidekick who would take notes for her, write out homework, and take tests with her.
His ringtone interrupted his theorem proving.
“Professor?” Connors sounded like she was whispering.
“Jan? I can hardly hear you. Where are you?”
“In your apartment building’s entrance hall. Someone’s hurt Mary Sue!”
“What? Where is she?”
“Back in our apartment. Or the hospital. I ran out of the apartment and called 9-1-1. When I opened our door, I saw her on the floor. And someone was in her bedroom!”
“OK. Calm down. Can you take the elevator? I’m in 3G.” Boris opened his door and waited for her. When the elevator door opened, he went to help her. She was bent over, the hand from the good arm on her knee for support. “You’re out of breath.”
“I ran all the way. That detective told us where you live. I just didn’t know the apartment number.”
“Why didn’t you wait for the police?”
“Because someone was still in there! I told 9-1-1 that. I’m such a coward. I should have stayed to help Mary Sue.”
“You might be dead now if you had done that. 9-1-1 will get the police there if you told the operator that someone was in your apartment. Considering your shoulder, I don’t think you could have put up much of a fight. You did the right thing.”
“I could have attacked the bastard with a kitchen knife!”
“Don’t second guess this. What if that bastard had a gun? A knife wouldn’t do much good.”
“I could probably throw it faster than he could shoot.”
He frowned. “Maybe you’ve seen too many thriller movies.”
“You’re probably right. A kitchen knife isn’t very good for throwing anyway. Can I have some milk?”
Boris’s kitchen window overlooked the street. He heard screeching brakes and car doors slam. He peered out just in time to see four men exit a black SUV. The streetlamp lighted their faces as they surveyed their surroundings. Not cops. More like thugs. The memory of that FSB invasion of his Moscow home resurfaced.
He put the milk carton back in the refrigerator and dashed back to Jan.
“We need to get out of here! Four guys are coming for you, and they don’t look friendly.”
***
They took the elevator down to the basement garage. Boris saw one thug was waiting for them. They’re pros, covering all exits. But what kind of pros?
An element of surprise nd Boris’s quick reaction saved them. He knocked the gun out of the thug’s hand before he could fire and smashed a fist into the thug’s larynx with the other hand. The thug went down. Boris kicked him in the head for good measure.
“My car’s the VW. Run for it!”
Boris had bought the little car used. It was a convertible and leaked a bit in the winter rain and snow, but he loved it. They were on the interstate in five minutes.
Jan seemed in shock. “Where-where did you learn to do that?”
Boris thought a moment. What to tell her? I was once stupidly preparing to confront FSB agents the next time they came for me? “I’ve studied self-defense. I had the advantage of surprise. I’m no James Bond.”
“More like Matt Damon as Jason Bourne,” said the girl with a nervous smile. “And you thought I was over the top about the knife-throwing?” She smoothed her hair a bit. “Am I supposed to have Franka Potente’s role?”
“I’m not sure I understand, and it doesn’t matter. We’re not in a movie here, Jan. We have to figure out what’s happening.”
“We seem to be on the run. How are we going to find out anything by running? I notice you’re not heading for the nearest precinct station.”
“Something’s not right here. I want to avoid Leo Fonseca and his ilk until we figure it out. Was one of those thugs searching Mary Sue’s room?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. The guy in there wasn’t quiet by any means. I heard crashing noises. So, yes, probably? I wasn’t there for more than a few seconds.”
He nodded. “That’s a pattern. They tossed Vlad’s room, and now Mary Sue’s. Yours might have been next. They’re looking for something. Something Vlad had originally, but they’ve concluded that he doesn’t have it now.” He thought a moment. “Vlad might be dead. They tortured him. When he stuck to his story, whatever it is, they tortured him some more. Until he died. They work that way.”
“They? Maybe in Russia, professor, but this is the U. S. of A. Things like that just don’t happen here.”
“Maybe they’re better at hiding their sins.” He took an exit off the interstate. “We need to find you a safe place to stay.”
She eyed the road sign stating the distance to the marina as they sped by. “Matt Damon was on a boat in the opening scene. Guess you’re changing the order of the script.”
“Again, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but a colleague has a houseboat at the marina. He told me where I can find the key if I ever wanted to use it.”
“What happens if he’s home?”
“He’s married now. Doesn’t use it much because he lives elsewhere.”
Boris knew Gerry Grimes’s new wife had tried to convince him to sell the houseboat for the last two years. She probably guessed that the good-looking Grimes had taken women there. Boris smiled. Maybe even his new wife before they were married?
***
In libris libertas…
